A tiny spider, all by himself,
Spinning a web of the thinnest string
‘Whom do you hope to catch?
For whom is this trap?’
I ask, and watch enthralled for a while
Then peeling my eyes off the window
At my own reflection I stare; I
Powder my face and wear mascara
I paint my lips in the bloodiest of reds
And line my eyes with the darkest of kohls
The spider has crawled to my window sill
Peering at me and responding in kind
‘Whom do you hope to catch?
For whom is this trap?’
Yashodhara’s lament
A slight noise, and
Hope raises its eyes again,
Straining into the darkness
Beyond the awnings
Someone walks
Is that perhaps, you?
But no, alas! It’s not.
Hope that had raised its eyes,
Lowers it now.
Everyone comes back
Returns to their nests
Where be you, O charmed one?
Where be you?
Rest; I tell myself
let that blessed blanket
Of sleep fall,
Cover hope’s eyes.
Tomorrow, I shall see
Some other souls
Who smile at me,
Not utterly unkind
They will say again
That you will come
Back to me, back to us -
But I see not hope in their eyes
I see not hope, my lord
I dreamed once
That you and I walked
Together into the sunset
Hand in hand
It was not an impossible dream
Not oil on water
So easily moved with
A blow of the wind.
I was tied to you
And you to me
In the most unknot-able ways
And you undid it
When, I know not
But it was not the night
You left my side, I know
It was long before
And I never knew
When? How? Why?
I ask myself
Questions, reverberating
Through me and into the heavens
Like the hymns you
Now chant somewhere
I fear for me, O loved one!
I fear for us, and ours
Waiting in this gazebo
Night after night
I slowly come undone
At my hinges
I slowly come undone
Hope raises its eyes again,
Straining into the darkness
Beyond the awnings
Someone walks
Is that perhaps, you?
But no, alas! It’s not.
Hope that had raised its eyes,
Lowers it now.
Everyone comes back
Returns to their nests
Where be you, O charmed one?
Where be you?
Rest; I tell myself
let that blessed blanket
Of sleep fall,
Cover hope’s eyes.
Tomorrow, I shall see
Some other souls
Who smile at me,
Not utterly unkind
They will say again
That you will come
Back to me, back to us -
But I see not hope in their eyes
I see not hope, my lord
I dreamed once
That you and I walked
Together into the sunset
Hand in hand
It was not an impossible dream
Not oil on water
So easily moved with
A blow of the wind.
I was tied to you
And you to me
In the most unknot-able ways
And you undid it
When, I know not
But it was not the night
You left my side, I know
It was long before
And I never knew
When? How? Why?
I ask myself
Questions, reverberating
Through me and into the heavens
Like the hymns you
Now chant somewhere
I fear for me, O loved one!
I fear for us, and ours
Waiting in this gazebo
Night after night
I slowly come undone
At my hinges
I slowly come undone
A little dose of happiness
Most of us are guilty of living for another day/time. Always waiting for the future. Tomorrow… next month… next year…. The time’s just never right to be happy today. Because today, I have work; because today, I need to finish this and that; because today is not Friday. ‘When I lose weight, I’ll be happy.’ ‘When I go on a holiday, I will be happy.’ But I know myself, if/when I lose weight, I will find some other reason to be unhappy. When I go on a holiday, I will come back guilty and fat and be unhappy again. Because as I have just discovered – I just don’t know how to be happy. I just don’t rejoice in teensy little happy moments, I don’t harvest them, don’t harness them.
I’ve always looked at happy people and thought how lucky they were – it was akin to winning a lottery prize or something. It is now slowly dawning on me that happiness is not an event. It’s not something that happens to you because you are lucky, not something you stumble upon because you are serendipitous.
A know a guy who keeps smiling all the time. He’s not extraordinarily good looking, he is not suave, sophisticated, or anything – but he smiles. And that smile, believe me when I say this, is the most contagious thing after conjunctivitis. I find myself smiling too when I meet him. It’s simple and genuine, not the ‘with effort’ smile I sometimes see on the faces of my other acquaintances, and on my own face, of course (my own smile appears to me to be ‘with effort and with pain’ like I am overdosed with ‘you no poo’ or something.)
When I was younger, I believed that I need to be beautiful, have a lot of money, be popular, and have the undivided attention of a handsome man to be happy. And because I don’t have all this, I must remain unhappy. But this man smiling man I mentioned, he doesn’t seem to have any of the items on this list (well, he may not be particularly interested in the ‘handsome man’ so scratch that). Then how does he look so deliriously happy?
I wonder where along the way we get this ‘attitude’ towards happiness. Children seem so happy, they smile a lot (they cry a lot too, but let’s discount that). Maybe it starts young, this inability to be happy. To whine, to crib, to look at the half-emptiness and never the half-fullness.
So, I am making a small vow to myself today – I am going to try to be happy. Why try – I am happy! See, this is already working! :) :) :)
I am going to smile, ‘smile even in my liver’ like in Eat, Pray, Love (if you’ve not read this lovely book – please do!). Yes, I am smiling in my liver and my gut and my kidney and my gall-bladder and… okay, I know you get the picture. So I am so going to do just that!
Signed
Happy-happy me
*All smiles*
the will and the way
Once will said to the way
Come with me, come away
The way just quietly lay
Ignored will, looked away
Will had had her say
But the way did never sway
And that is the day
Will made her own way
Things at times have a way
Of falling apart and falling away
But like they always say,
Where there's a will, there's a way
Come with me, come away
The way just quietly lay
Ignored will, looked away
Will had had her say
But the way did never sway
And that is the day
Will made her own way
Things at times have a way
Of falling apart and falling away
But like they always say,
Where there's a will, there's a way
The morning after
Scattered pieces of china
The only
Remnants of my anger
Staring back at me
Demanding reason.
I cannot think
Of a good enough one
Now, the morning after.
Then, it seemed important
That it doesn’t remain whole
That I crash and break and
Let them know
I am angry, I am not happy.
Now, I am too tired to be
Angry, sad, or upset
I want to get up
Pick up these pieces;
But neat spaces, clean floors,
Everything seems unimportant
Now, the morning after
The only
Remnants of my anger
Staring back at me
Demanding reason.
I cannot think
Of a good enough one
Now, the morning after.
Then, it seemed important
That it doesn’t remain whole
That I crash and break and
Let them know
I am angry, I am not happy.
Now, I am too tired to be
Angry, sad, or upset
I want to get up
Pick up these pieces;
But neat spaces, clean floors,
Everything seems unimportant
Now, the morning after
Mechanical
Typing, driving …
How they told us
would be mechanical
once we learnt them.
At first daunting
- the A, B, C
then starting to come
easily …
Changing gears
like a pro,
spinning tales
in minutes,
hands and fingers
finding the A, B, C
mechanically.
Life too
in some ways
is like that these days
the freshness gone
the stale A, B, Cs
of life left alone.
I don’t stare at them
with wonder galore
don’t look for them
to find them anymore.
Hands move
mechanically
to the alarm clock,
and then
to the toothbrush.
Smiles and frowns
are mechanical
and so is saying,
“I love you.”
How they told us
would be mechanical
once we learnt them.
At first daunting
- the A, B, C
then starting to come
easily …
Changing gears
like a pro,
spinning tales
in minutes,
hands and fingers
finding the A, B, C
mechanically.
Life too
in some ways
is like that these days
the freshness gone
the stale A, B, Cs
of life left alone.
I don’t stare at them
with wonder galore
don’t look for them
to find them anymore.
Hands move
mechanically
to the alarm clock,
and then
to the toothbrush.
Smiles and frowns
are mechanical
and so is saying,
“I love you.”
Ambition
The gates stand open
you can walk in;
about returning though,
no guarantees
are given.
You start walking
thinking you want to
get there soon,
get there at any cost
you walk fast, faster
and trot some too
and then you see
that you are sure no longer -
is this where you wanted to go?
You haven’t got there yet,
but the pathway scares you,
and so do your co-passengers
why do all of them
resemble scavengers?
Now you are sure,
‘This is not what I wanted!’
But you are tired
you are more than
half way across
and the scavengers
are waiting for you
to slow down
or change course.
And so you walk on
to where you are so
sure, you no longer
want to go…
you can walk in;
about returning though,
no guarantees
are given.
You start walking
thinking you want to
get there soon,
get there at any cost
you walk fast, faster
and trot some too
and then you see
that you are sure no longer -
is this where you wanted to go?
You haven’t got there yet,
but the pathway scares you,
and so do your co-passengers
why do all of them
resemble scavengers?
Now you are sure,
‘This is not what I wanted!’
But you are tired
you are more than
half way across
and the scavengers
are waiting for you
to slow down
or change course.
And so you walk on
to where you are so
sure, you no longer
want to go…
on my guard
I am tired -
of phony smiles
expensive scents
and sprits
and inexpensive
consciences.
Free loves
and freer moralities.
People meandering
through the party
with their
insignificant others
“How are you?’s
and no answers
listened to.
Virtual memories,
and artificial laughter
I am so tired,
but I cannot,
not for a second,
let it be known
that I am not
one of them
once they know
they will
Sympathize
‘Tch tch’, they’ll whisper
‘She seemed so normal.’
happiness
I dreamt yesterday
of walking to the door
of a room
yes, full of happiness
it was; I knew
ere entering
as is the nature
of such dreams.
And I knocked
the polished
brass knocker
with anticipation
… no trepidation.
The door opened
soundlessly
I walked in
and found myself
yes, full of happiness
which was
within, not without
I looked around at
the vast emptiness
and felt truly
- happy -
for the first time
Norms
In a strange world where
it’s norm
to talk in rhymes
a baby wailing for milk
cries in cadences
a little older, says,
‘I hunger for milk
so kind mama,
give some, like
mothers of your ilk’
a dying man
not able to form
a coherent rhyme
dies without saying
anything at all.
Haven’t you heard
of free-verse
my good folks?
it’s norm
to talk in rhymes
a baby wailing for milk
cries in cadences
a little older, says,
‘I hunger for milk
so kind mama,
give some, like
mothers of your ilk’
a dying man
not able to form
a coherent rhyme
dies without saying
anything at all.
Haven’t you heard
of free-verse
my good folks?
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